COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS
by TheInnocentMage
Summary: John and Dean are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small town a few degrees past forgotten. But what's the worst that could happen? It's quiet, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, witches, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Teenchester/InjuredHurtSam/Big Brother!Dean
1. PROLOGUE

**TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** _John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and_ _finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. W_ _hat's the worst that could happen? It's quite, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual._

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many **_feels_**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the right to Supernatural :')

 **NOTES:** I tried to express that Sam's delusional in this chapter; Blood loss, head trauma, bone fractures, _supernatural complications._ It will makes sense as the story progresses.

...

 **PROLOGUE**

...

The rain, if anything, is _insistent._

Striking cold beneath Sam's flesh and creeping under his clothes. Spreading across his skin like liquid winter. His teeth chatter and the rain seeps deeper, piercing his bones. Sam giggles, because, _because did you know? It rains diamonds on Neptune._ Ice feels to fuse and then replace his insides.

His fingers have long bled pale. Soaking wet jacket, jeans, and sneakers do little to keep him warm. Late November wind exhales with mumbled purrs of satisfaction. Callous and unkind in its relentless struggle with the dark, kraken-cruel clouds.

Sinless and pure as an angel's tears, each cold droplet of rain lands painfully on his exposed skin. Further numbing any lingering sensation that he may still retain. The harmonic thumping lulls Sam back to the land of the living. No longer able to hide behind the barricading façade of unconsciousness.

Sam twists blindly in an attempt to push himself upright. The world tilts sickeningly back into focus and slowly, he realises that he's lying on his front. Head pressed heavily against the cool dampness of the earth. Sam blinks sluggishly, once, _twice._

A deep throbbing ruptures in his skull, through his veins. _Burning. Searing._ Pulsing rhythmically with the rain. A beat, a moment, and the agony that follows consumes his every thought as he withers on the ground. The onslaught from the sky continues mockingly.

The forest floor is a fortress of broken twigs and leaves. Sam snaps once again into focus and stretches his arm out, clawing into the loose dirt. With each movement, the young Hunter drags himself forward and ignores splintering feeling in his right arm. He crawls onwards single-handedly because, _because_ there's somewhere he needs to go, something he needs to escape, someone he needs to find. Exhaustion creeps into Sam's trembling limbs like parasites, determined on feeding upon his dwindling reserves of energy.

Each insignificantly small patch of ground covered becomes a ferocious battle. It takes all his strength and Sam barely makes the distance between two closely growing trees. For some reason his right arm won't respond to his commands. It's. . _. It's extremely irritating._

Breathing sharply, Sam curls in on himself. With one arm sprawling out across the forest floor at an awkward angle, beads of rain collect in his palm. Shivers wrack his body causing Sam to shake violently. Uncontrollably. It's cold, it's so damn cold. But his inside just seem to keep _burning._

 ** _'Location!'_**

John's words bark into his ears.

Sam's eyes snap open. He tries, he truly, wholly, completely tries his hardest to focus. The rain blurs everything in his immediate vicinity as he squints to survey his surroundings.

 _Dirt... Leaves... Twigs... Trees..._

Perhaps it takes a tad too long for Sam to clock where he is, but no one's counting. He allows his brain to mull over the information. Why Dean isn't here? Dean should be here.

 _Forest. Hunt. Dullahan. Headless._

Sam rests _because on Venus it snows metal and rains sulphuric acid_. He surrenders as his muscles lock into place. Everything crashes in one wave of memories. The young Hunter groans as he tries to grasp at the useful pieces in his mind.

 ** _'Risk!'_**

The word crosses Sam's jumbled thoughts in John's gruff, no-nonsense voice. He attempts to assemble the disjointed shades of vivid and hazy recollections of the past day, _week? Maybe more._ But those all seem long gone, washed away again in the tide of beating pain in his head and running through his blood. Swirling just out of reach and comprehension. It's cold. Way to cold to think, and certainty not about stupid hunts. Stupid monsters that shouldn't exist. That he shouldn't have to deal with in his messed-up life.

It's a fight Sam doesn't have the energy for. The wet warmth slides down the side of his face, tickling his icy skin and causing his to turn his head in reflex. A shadow just out in the dark tree line stalks closer. Barging carelessly through high evergreen branches, rippling them down like corals at low tide. Sam's fingers twitch at the sound of breaking undergrowth and heavy booted footsteps.

The dark figure looming over his exhausted, beaten body confirms his fears. The chain gripped in the black-leathered glove may be bloodied, but the double-axe head hanging on the end is sharpened and polished, so much that it shines silver in the rain.

A long, dark trench coat is soaked through. Water dripping off with nowhere else to go, but it's wearer seems less than bothered. Sam weakly makes one last attempt to struggle away. His fingers claw into the ground, trapping loose earth under his nails.

'Tag, you're it.' A male voice teases.

Sam's line of vision is limited to the heavy black army style boots striding forward, kicking up leaves in their wake. The ground breaths, free to take in rain. He watches absently as the figure stands a few feet in front of his head.

'I've got to hand it to ya kid.' He smirks and crouches down. Arms relaxingly resting on his bent legs. 'No one's given me such a run for my money in a very long time.'

The young Hunter flinches as fingers brush away his drenched hair, that had been sticking to his forehead and covering his hazel eyes. The touch is gentle, but it aggravates the gash above his right eyebrow.

'Looks pretty nasty.' He fakes sympathy, marvelling at his own handiwork. The throbbing hollows out Sam's head with pain, chipping away further at his lucidity. 'Definitely concussion.' He concludes. 'Humans are fragile like that. But then, you aren't one of _them_ anymore.'

Poised like a cat, the monster stands up with a grace no earthly creature could manage. His muscles flex ready to deal the final blow.

'Oh well,' he sighs, circling his prey. 'It's a shame, little Winchester. I would play more, you've been most entertaining, but all good things must come to a end.'

Ignoring his hand-held weapon in favour of something more precise, the man twists his wrist. A dark blade flicks out. Once concealed under his sleeve, he now points the smooth metal at Sam's chest.

'So I can't be hanging around when daddy dearest shows up.' He smiles fondly, as if parting with a cherished friend. 'Goodbye, Sammy. It's unfortunate you were on their side.'

Blood mixtures with rain as a blade sinks deeply into flesh.

 **...**

 **Please review and let me know what you think! Your feedback is always greatly appreciated :) If there are any mistakes or if anyone is interested in being a beta for this story please message me! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 1 - WINTER & A WINCHESTER

**CHAPTER ONE - WINTER & A WINCHESTER**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** _John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and_ _finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. W_ _hat's the worst that could happen? It's quite, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual._

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many **_feels_**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')

 **...**

 **SHOUT OUT:**

AmaraRae

Ashollow

Julia Lindsay

obsessedemi213

rozzy07

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT! It is much appreciated and keeps him inspired.**

 **...**

 **TWO DAYS EARLIER**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Rains thuds against the windows, demanding entrance into the room laced with dust. Sam exhales and watches his breath turn white in the cold, early morning air. The sight sends shivers down his spine.

Dim threads of moonlight escape between the tattered tea-stained curtains and paints the rotting walls. It's unsightly. With a deep sigh, Sam scrunches his eyes tightly shut and rolls over. The texture of the motel bed sheets against his skin gave little comfort compared with the leather seats of Dean's Impala.

Since his father and brother left, the November weather had remained unwavering. Granite skies and mizzling rain colour the dreary week he had spent alone in this town. Sam had, quite plainly, failed to _'make friends'_ within the first days here or at school. Then he came to peace with the fact that once this semester ends, John would haul his ass to the next hunt, no matter how much Sam fought him, no matter what bitter, venomous words leave his lips.

It hurts and hurts and crushes his chest. John never listens. And a part of Sam realises that he probably never will.

Their last fight had John storming out of this motel and Dean trailing after him, ignoring Sam as he sweeps the room and collects weapons for the hunt. He doesn't even glance at his younger brother, closing the door behind him without a single word. It cuts Sam deeper than any knife ever could. _Why does Dean take John's side every? Every. Single. Time?_ He just wanted to finish the semester in the same school. Leaving would mean having to catch up and, this time, catching up had not an option. _Was that too much to ask? Apparently so._

Only the boredom parallels the dropping temperature in abundance. Everything just grows colder and colder. Until, finally, the outmoded heater unit, which was half-hanging off the wall, decided this was a good time to end its career.

Sam balls his hands on the edges of the extra blankets, pulling them tighter around his body. More shivers rack up his spine, in protest of the unfavourable, unbearable chill. He sighs. Rolling over on the hard, lumpy bed, he checks the salt line by the door. The white stood proud, illuminated in the dark motel room. A barricade to a fortress of hunting research and an arsenal of guns, knives and silver-forged weapons.

Alone in the darkness, there was no distraction and his thoughts were swiftly consumed by the feeling of the deathly cold room. His body heat didn't so much as drain away, or leach out slowly after the heater gave out, it abandoned him completely.

The constant, relentless hum of mangled conversations through the paper-thin walls, fall on numb ears. It has been a long, bitter night. _No, scratch that. It's been a long week._

Sam's 'allowance', or more specificity that money Dean had secretly left him when John had told, _yelled_ at him that if he wanted to stay, he would have to pay for himself, is now dwindling in the double digits. Neither his brother of father has bothered to call him once. At the very least, they could of found an area that held some small reminisce of signal to check up on him. This much he expected from Dad, but Dean always phones him. Surely, they had cooled off from the fight by now? There's a pang in his chest, cutting deep into his heart. The disappointment in his father's eyes that he couldn't be _more_ like Dean haunts Sam like a ghost. There's an undeniable sense of loss that he'd never be as fast, as strong, or as skilled a Hunter as his older brother.

But something is wrong. Which wasn't all that strange. Something is always wrong in his family. This world and his life only seem to fuel their problems.

He would give the situation another couple of days to play out. Odds are Dean would show up with a smirk that said _'we ganked the sons of've bitches. Time to move on, Sammy.'_ And that would be the end of it.

Bye, bye town that no one knows exists unless you live here. Hello next place that stands out just as much as the last.

A Hunter's life was one endless cycle of roads, towns, takeaway meals and monsters, oh, then back to the roads.

He was no longer that clueless six-year-old boy, the world of the supernatural was far too real for his liking. But even at fifteen, the idea that the thing under his bed is less dangerous than the things outside the front door, probably isn't the healthiest thought for a teenager.

Sam fidgets formulating a plan in his head. If nothing changes in the next three days, he'll pack everything he can and run. From then on he would hitchhike to Pastor Jim's or Bobby's place. It's not ideal but it's a start.

Rolling over, Sam stretches out an arm to reach the crappy motel alarm clock. Angry red lights flicker behind the cracked plastic screen in the dark.

 **2:07 a.m.**

Give or take half an hour. He cannot sleep, it's just too cold. No one is at reception so he cannot ask to bring someone in to fix the heater. And even if he did, a repairman wouldn't arrive till morning.

 _'Dean would be able to do it,'_ he thinks sullenly. _'Wouldn't be lying here freezing his ass off.'_

Sam braces himself, inhaling deeply. Then with the grace of a newly hatched chick, fights his way through the rubbish on the ground to the extra hoodies piled on Dean's allocated bed.

A few more complimentary shivers rattle his body, in warning of the dangerous outside-bed conditions.

Pulling the baggy Metallica hoodie over his head and the long sleeves past his hands, Sam turns to get back to his bed. He quickly changes into an abandoned pair of jeans and slips on his dark blue sneakers. Anything is an option if it keeps him warm.

The rain falls heavier, thumping on the windowpane. Change of plans, neither the sky nor cold would allow him any rest in this room. Sam prepares to find a place in this motel where the cold hasn't sunk into the foundations.

Perhaps, the pantry or laundry rooms still retain some heat? There was practically no one here, let alone anything supernatural. Nothing had bothered the few residents or Sam in last few days, causing him to highly doubt anything ever would. But just to be on the safe side he moves to dig up a small revolver stashed under a pile of dirty clothes. Slipping it between his waistband, the metal only burns against his skin.

Grabbing the keys off the side table, Sam slowly unlocks the motel door. Accidentally disturbing the salt line in his wake. The young Winchester peers out into a deserted corridor. Which, in his opinion, had seen better days and probably would never again. He slowly proceeds to carefully ebb into the hallway. Checking the coast was clear once again, Sam locks the door behind him and slips the keys into his pocket.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Sam takes to a light jog. Tallying the rooms in his head as he walks past.

 ** _42_**

 ** _39_**

 ** _32_**

 ** _28_**

After a minute's search, the old laundry room comes into view and a genuine smile crosses Sam's chilled lips. He knocks on the door and, upon receiving no reply, allows himself inside.

Mould cakes the ceiling and the clanky humming from the beat-out dryer vibrates along the floor. _But hey, at least it is warm?_

Sam exhaustedly drags with feet across the room and slides down the opposing wall. Pulling his legs tight to his chest, he rests his chin on his knees. It's late, and John had ordered him to continue training every day after he came home from school. If it had been anything else Sam would have faked participation. But somehow that man always knew when he'd tried to skip a session. And punishment for his actions usually entails double the work that was first given. Sometimes it was just easier to follow orders then try to challenge them, no matter how pointless they seem. Sam sighs.

How many hours had he spent lying awake wondering if his family were dead or alive? Taking their last breath or safe and sound? How many times had he cried himself to a restless sleep after not hearing from Dean for _days?_ Sam can't even count how many times he had considered running away _. Escaping? Being normal?_

But with as many other nights like this, Sam's loneliness keeps him company. Tired eyes fall shut, and the young Winchester hazily wonders what his Dean is doing right now and, more importantly, is he safe?

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 **Please review and let me know what you think :) x**


	3. Chapter 2 - WINCHESTER'S LOST PROPERTY

**CHAPTER TWO - WINCHESTER'S LOST PROPERTY**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** _John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and_ _finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. W_ _hat's the worst that could happen? It's quite, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual._

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many **_feels_**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')

 **NOTES:** Sam - 15, Dean - 19

 **...**

 **SHOUT OUT:**

AmaraRae

Imtheonewhofeelinglost

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT! It is very much appreciated!**

 **...**

Sam wakes up awkwardly. Perched against the quiet dryer and head pounding furiously. It seeks revenge for neglecting hours of sleep over the past few days. Sam pulls his slumping body up straight and stretches out his aching limbs. Slowly, he slips down the wall, colliding gently with the floor.

A yawn begins to itch in his throat, burning slightly as Sam swallows. The feeling is nostalgically similar to the time he ate seventeen pure sugar cubes on a dare. A dare Dean had given him, he muses tiredly.

Sam sighs as his breath turns chalky white.

The silence is only met by the hum of the mechanical disappointment next to him which, at some point, during the early morning had turned itself off. At least he isn't _unbearably_ cold yet. Sam huddles tighter into the corner, pulling his legs closer to his chest and wrapping his arms round his torso. The young Hunter hums along with the dryer in satisfaction.

Under his oversized clothes, a layer of cosy heat has built up. The Metallica hoodie had retained Dean's scent, while the long baggy sleeves covered his hands, insulating his fingers. Sam felt himself begin to drift. He stays immobile for a few short, sweet moments.

Until the bright bulb above flickers on.

Sam cringes, covering his eyes with his arm from the harsh light. The scream that follows is enough to shock the boy out of his sleepy haze. He had given the old laundry lady quite a scare. Stumbling on him curled up and half-asleep on the floor. The shill cry that sounded throughout the crumbling motel causes a grand total of one other guest to come running down the corridor at half six in the morning.

The blush that decorates Sam's pale features is born of embarrassment and his stuttered apologises. In a rush, the young Hunter tries to explain in his tired state that the heater in his room had given out and with nowhere else to go, he had taken refuge here. The lady gives him a pitiful look. The unspoken question in her mind. _Why is a kid like you alone? Where's your family?_

Sam sighs again.

 _Where indeed?. . . But hey, he isn't a kid. Just incapable, untrustworthy and an incompetent Hunter in John's eyes. In what kind of normal family does a **teenager** end up in a full blown argument with his father about wanting to stay in school? . . . Maybe he's too young to understand? The excuse tastes bitter. But every time he opens his mouth and talks to John it turns into World War III. _

_And Dean becomes collateral damage._

 _Guilt flushes Sam's lanky frame. Followed by a miserable anger because Dean sides with John. Every. Single. Time._

The out-stretched hand that appears in front of his face, brings Sam back to the here and now.

A handsome man, possible in his mid-thirties becomes his saviour. He offers Sam a hand up and laughs it off, saying how they'd all been there at one point. Maybe it's the movement, but the minute Sam is on his feet the room feels a few degrees colder. Sam shivers. The sooner he leaves this place the better. _Why couldn't they find a job in Florida for once?_

With a warm smile, the man places an uninvited hand tightly on Sam's shoulder. At first it seems like he has nothing to offer but good intentions, and Sam ties to subtly brush off the uncomfortable grip. The young Hunter quickly realises the man is refusing to let go. He sends a pleading look to the only other person who might be able to help him. The maid only melts at the man's smooth words. He asks her to ignore everything she'd seen and a knot tightens in Sam's stomach.

He gentle guides Sam to the hallway, closing the laundry room door behind them and the youngest Winchester's heart begins beating a mile a minute. They stands alone as Sam's shaky breaths quicken to fill the space between them. For a moment, his minds freezes and the corridor light flicker above.

"I'm fine really. I'll go back to my room." Sam whispers cautiously. Tugging from the his hold and giving the man a wide berth as he steps away. All too eager to return to behind the safety of saltlines and rickety motel locks.

'Are you sure? You had quite a night.' He coos, firmly grabbing Sam's upper arm instead as the Hunter tries to sneak past. Intensive green eyes gaze into hazel ones.

"Yes. My Dad and brother are expecting me to call them, they're coming to get me today." Sam lies with all the steadiness he can muster.

 _Be strong. . . Strong like Dean. . ._

The raven-haired man just smiles in response, but something else is hidden just beneath the surface.

'Why don't you stay with me for a bit?' He offers. 'I'm sure they won't mind. The heater in your room is still broken, isn't it? So you'll be cold if you go back.'

"No, honestly. I'm-"

'I insist, Sam.'

The youngest Winchester frowns, feeling a little light headed.

"I never... never..." He stumbles forward, side slamming heavily against the motel corridor wall. Fingernails claw deeply into the dry plaster for all the support it could not give. Sam's hand reaches for the concealed weapon under his clothes.

But the choice comes too late.

He falls to the floor, sprawled out on his front. The revolver thuds on carpet just beyond Sam's reach. His breaths morph into shorter, shallower gasps for air. Each inhale burns inside his lungs.

'Never what, Sam?'

His concentration is slipping, limbs feeling weaker and weaker with each passing second. Everything grows cold again. But somehow this is worse. It dances over his skin and burrows into his flesh.

The thought of freezing to death crosses Sam's addled mind, and strangely, he cannot stop the giggle that escapes his lips. Then out of nowhere, he feels hot. Burning up and sweating from the unbearable fire pulsing through his veins. He needs to take his clothes off now or he'll die, Sam's sure of it.

Twisting his body awkwardly, the Hunter ends up on his back, blindly attempting to reach for the bottom of his hoodie to take the cursed thing off. Yet his limbs just won't obey. _Please God, Dean, anyone, it's too hot._

Sam's agitated body vaguely notices as the man slips one arm under his knees, and another behind his shoulders. A pitiful whimper escapes his lips and Sam's hands search for something to cling onto. The abrupt change in perspective brings waves of dizziness. The young hunter barely registers the man lift him up as if he weighs nothing. Looking up through half-lidded fevered eyes, Sam attempts to focus on the hazy face of the man above.

'What, Sam? You never answered me.' He asks smugly.

His abductor holds him so there is no give. No way he can struggle or wriggle free. Arms clamp tight around his shaking frame. Sam remembers why something wasn't right.

 _He never. . . He never. . ._

"Never said my name. . . was Sam." His voice is barely audible against his now soft, slow breaths.

At some point his body had fallen limp. Strangely numb and limbs too heavy to comply. He's so very, very tired.

The man begins to stride down the hallway. Smirking slightly at his prey's dwindling resistance. Passing the room Sam had been staying in, the man's grip on the Winchester tightens. But the young human is barely lucid enough to notice. He's freezing again. Small body racked with shivers and teeth clattering in a desperate bid to chase along the cold.

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Like luminous petals, snowflakes fall haphazardly to the concrete.

 _Damn, it's cold._

Is practically the only thought running through Dean's head. A navy blue scarf wrapped tightly round his neck, protecting his amulet, he continues down the deserted streets of _'no one cares this town exists'_ or whatever its name may be.

He was suppose to meet John here half an hour ago, but at this rate, he will have frozen to death before the older hunter finds him. John was meant to have finished the research with what little lore the town's small library had to offer.

Stopping at a crossroad empty of cars and people, Dean sighs - _this is going nowhere._

Being away from Sammy for so long, even if the kid is fifteen, Dean does anything he can to avoid sleeping. Even if it means walking down a deathly cold street, in a some crappy town, searching for a hunter who still doesn't know how to use a map.

A smooth purr stills air, growing louder from around the corner. Dean's smile graces his face as a small smirk. Ever since his Dad had given him the car, it had quickly become better than any female companionship. The time spent together on the road, the memories it held of Sammy and him together, was more important to him than _anything._

The impala pulls up beside him and the nineteen-year-old leans down to rest his arm on the hood.

"For certain then, we're dealing with a nest of vamps?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," John's gruff voice replies, 'there's all the usual signs. Feeding patterns, typical binging, the whole package. We could be in and out by tomorrow evening with all the prep with've done."

Dean nods thoughtfully. "How many we looking at?"

"Six at the most, from the number of regular victims. Could of really used Sam's help right about now."

"Dad-"

"-No, listen, Dean. I let that kid get away with too much, what happens when we're not their to protect him? Hmm? I shoulda dragged his ass along for the practice, kid's gotta learn these things."

"Yeah, Dad that err, maybe so. But all that school shit is important to Sammy, he's-"

"-not like you," John grips the Impala's steering-wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white. "I know. I know and it's my damn fault. I'm too damn soft on him."

" _Dad_ -"

"-Anyway I'm perfectly sure the kid's back at the motel lazing about, or sneaked into some bar without a single thought for us. I just called an hour back and he didn't bother to pick up."

 _Your brother. Not my son, not Sammy. Dad couldn't ever be bothered- wait,_ "Sam didn't answer?"

"What of it?"

"Sam always answers when we call unless something is wrong!" Dean bits his lower lip in frustration and runs both hands through is hair. "Why _the hell_ didn't you tell me?"

"Don't you take the tone with me! The signal's been low on our end." He sighs. "Sam's fine, Dean just get in, we'll be back by the tomorrow anyway."

"That's still one more days he'll be on his own." Dean argues.

John shakes his head, ignoring his eldest last retort. "The kid probably hasn't even noticed we left. And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Your brother wanted to stay behind, he doesn't want to be with us, he _doesn't_ want to be part of this family. Just remember that."

Dean grimaces at the underlining anger in his father's voice.

Because those words are empty. There is no promise. Just a lie played on permanent repeat to keep Dean from arguing further. And he knew it. God, he knew John believed every word of it.

When Dean was younger he didn't care. Hunts were a special privilege. Just Dad and him. A chance to prove he wasn't a little kid anymore. That he was mature, more responsible, than his younger, baby brother. He didn't even spare a thought for what he was leaving Sam behind in those motel rooms.

Alone.

Isolated.

The fear and loneliness he must of installed in his brother every single time he walked out the doors. Not to return for days, sometimes even weeks. He wonders how often Sam worried that weren't going to come back. He sometimes wondered too, if this hunt or next or the one after that might be his last.

But now this is different. Sam isn't a child any longer. Dean frowns. John had stolen that right from them many years ago. But the oldest Winchester refuses to see what Sam had became. He trained with dedication. Even when he didn't want to. He could put up a fair fight against Dean while still being at great height disadvantage.

And the kid is miles ahead in his studies, further than anything Dean could of hoped accomplish at that age and probably now as well. Yet, none of that seemed to matter to John.

For whatever reason he didn't trust Sam. Plain and simple. Maybe it was because Sam could just be so, _so_ stubborn? Or maybe John is worried that Sam won't listen to him when on a hunt? If Sam is anything, it's strong-headed, strong-willed. And always at the wrong moment. The sound of raised voices rings in Dean's ears. Their fight from last week still clear in his memory. John's right. Sam isn't like him.

His little brother is everything John and him are not. And the thought only makes Dean proud. Why couldn't their Dad see that just once Sam wanted to have something other than the Supernatural on his mind?

Dean sighs, stepping out into the road and crossing in front of the Impala. As he slides to sit in shotgun, John revs the engine. A small cars crosses Dean's lips because God he loves this car, but it quickly fades.

When they got back to the motel, back to Sam, things were going to change. If John was ever going to listen to him, it wasn't while they were on a hunt. But that didn't excuse the fact that maybe it was high time he started.

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 **Please review and let me know what you think? :)**


	4. Chapter 3 - THE LIES OF A WINCHESTER

**CHAPTER THREE - THE LIES OF A WINCHESTER**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** _John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and_ _finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. W_ _hat's the worst that could happen? It's quite, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual._

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many **_feels_**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')

 **NOTES:** Sam - 15, Dean - 19

 **...**

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Sam wakes up alone. Rain splinters on the windowpane, falling into the room and landing on the bed. Cold slashes his face, as each spec causes his muscles to twitch. Sam drifts.

 _Not much matters._

The curtain dance from the breeze creeping in through the open window. His exposed skin tingles from the numbness of winter.

 _Not much matters._

Lying on scrunch up, ruffled bed sheets. Sam curls further in on himself, turning his head to escape the cold.

 _Not much matters._

A figure crosses into the room, passing a high mirror. Sam's heart skips a beat. And then a couple more. The reflection is headless. Black smoke lazy spills over from a cleanly severed neck and swirls into the stagnant motel air.

The amputated body turns to face Sam and he feels the colour bleed from his cheeks. With little acknowledgement of _where_ and _why_ and _how._ Sam's breaths grow faster, turning chalk white as the thing approaches. Each inhale burns his throat with an icy vengeance.

'You woke up too fast.' A voice accuses.

Sam head snaps to the direction of the sound. But his body refuses to response to his commands to run. His face contorts with pure, unfiltered confusion. Standing at the end of the bed is a man, sporting raven hair and unearthly green eyes.

The young Hunter looks fearfully between the person before him and the dismembered reflection. His lips hanging partly open in shock. The hazy memory sparks back to life- it's man from before. Except he is no man, no, Sam's tired mind battles for an answer.

 _A monster._ Something he's never seen before.

There's curious edge in the man- monster's eyes as he gracefully steps forward. Almost like he is floating. The man moves to crouch in front of Sam's face so they are eye level.

'Interesting. You metabolised my venom quite well. Are you sure you're a hundred percent human?' He smiles. 'Silly, of course you are, how could you not be?'

He moves to sit the bed, shifting the bedsheets and weighing down the mattress. Leaning forward from his spot just midway of Sam's torso, he gauges the reactions on the human's face.

'Many would still be working through the toxins effects, and you wake up after nineteen hours. I'm impressed, little Hunter.'

He reaches out to tilt Sam's head backward and snaps his fingers into front of Sam's eyes, inspecting his responses like he is a wild animal.

'But it looks like you can't move just yet. I have time.' He stands and momentarily walks away.

Sam head clears just enough for him to notice certain peculiar features of the room.

An assortment of bones litter the tops of dressers. Some even left on the floor to be propped up against the walls. The young Hunter has seen one or two open graves in his youth to recognise them as human. His half-lidded eyes flicker elsewhere in the room. A shiver runs down Sam's spine.

Precisely laid out opposite him, on a low standing coffee table, is the remains of some poor soul's spine. Fully intact and weaved together, surrounded by skulls donned with burning black-tinted candles. The wax having dripped down in such a way they look to be crying.

Sam cringes at the haunting set up and averts his gaze. On a chair in the corner of the bedroom hung an blooded double-axe head with no wooden handle, just a long silver chain attached. Between that and the skulls, Sam wonders if there was anywhere safe to look.

The headless figure returns to his side, crouching down as he had before. The air grows colder with each closing step, and the young Winchester breaths turn white again. Sam tried to track the man's movements.

"Who. . ?" His voice sounds weak and raspy like thin winter ice.

The monster reaches across and gentle brushes the bangs across Sam's forehead and out of his hazel eyes. But it's not lovingly like a mother, or at least what Sam thinks a mother's touch would feel like, it's teasing like a predictor playing with its prey.

'Dullahan.' He states proudly. 'But I doubt you've ever heard of my kind. Think of me as an assassin of the monster world. When hunters become too much of a problem to handle alone, I get called in.' He smiles falsely sweet. 'And you see Sammy, your family. They've _become_ a problem.'

The monster pulls his hand away. 'And the easiest way to get to John Winchester is through you. Imagine the pain of seeing his youngest, as the very thing he hates most in this world.'

There's something wrong. The man's lips hadn't moved.

"You're wrong, he won't care.' Sam's frowns, tone feels too confident to be a lie.

'Maybe... not maybe, I don't give either way. I just get paid. But I wonder what big brother Dean will feel.'

"Dean don't. . . won't care."

This lie tastes bitter on his tongue. But Sam watches the Dullahan begin to swallow his words.

'Huh, so then maybe I should kill you instead?' He relishes at the fear that flashes across the boy's eyes. 'My clients weren't very specific, _just stop John Winchester._ But I'm no fool. Any one of us that has even got close to that Hunter ended up as a pile of crispy ashes.'

The Dullahan continues to rant, and Sam felt a sliver of pride mix into the crushing overload of his emotions in his chest.

The monster narrows his eyes. 'But there are more ways to kill a man. First I take his youngest, that will be heartbreaking enough. But not because he cares for Sammy, but because you have a part of Mary in you. That's the only reason he lets you live. You're the reason she's dead after all.' Smiling, the monster watches as his words cut like daggers.

Sam's heart kicks against his ribs.

Dean and Dad never talk his mother. Every time he asks for the smallest detail, they shut the conversation down. Like it's some privilege he has no right to. Sam doesn't even know the colour of her eyes.

How is that fair? It's difficult to hear her name even now, especially from a stranger's lips.

'Don't look so surprised. Research is key remember? Your daddy taught you that.' He taunts, enjoying every second of pain, hurt, hate, fear that laces the human's face. 'I've been following you for a while. Learning your family's habits, your family's tendency. But I never dreamed your brother would give me the chance to get you alone. Imagine my luck when they left you behind, little one. Otherwise I have of had to stage a little scenario to separate you.'

His runs his fingers through Sam's hair again.

'Guess it just made my job easier. Because after you Sammy, I take his oldest, his favourite.'

Sam's swallows the bitterness in his throat. He doesn't argue, because deep down he knows it to be true. Dean had always been Dad's favourite, his perfect soldier.

"You obviously don't know my father, he'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth of you hurt Dean. There's no where you'll be able to run." Sam hesitates to continue the threat.

This is getting a little weird. The monster is taking, Sam's almost an hundred percent sure of it, but his mouth hadn't moved- not once.

The Dullahan's resolve wavers for a second. Just for a second. His cocky facade replaced with uncertainty. Yet his fall from composure is fleeting, and suddenly his hands are tightly wrapped around Sam's throat.

'So what? Everything he loved gone. But say he does hunt, he does catch me and somehow manages to kill me. What's left after that?" He smiles cruelly this time, the expression ill-fitting on his handsome features.

A moment passes where the young Hunter desperately gasps for breath, hands reaching for the ones around his neck. Missing and only finding nothing but empty air. Slowly the Dullahan releases his hold and leans down to whisper in his ear.

'Just a broken man.'

Sam heaves cold air into his raw lungs as the man - no, monster - stands and walks to the opened window.

'If you're wondering why you can't speak, it's the venom. Can't have my victims screaming their heads off when they wake, can I? That would get awfully tedious.'

 _'How?'_

Sam's voices echoes in his own head sounds half-choked.

'Telepathy.' He answers shortly. 'Do you really think that's my voice you've been hearing? Please Sammy, I thought you were smarter than this.'

The sarcastic drawl lingers in his tone.

'I know you saw my reflection. No head, no mouth. Unfortunately, mirrors show my kind for what we truly are. We're similar to Sirens in that way. But don't get confused, that's all we have in common with those vulgar creatures.'

Sam's concentration begins to slip. His face and chest feel hot. Whatever this venom is, that the Dullahan kept mentioning, had been dulling his senses. His throat no longer itches, but burns painfully sore with every swallow. His brain feels as if it's using his skull as a punch-bag. Sam turns his head looking for the monster.

Standing by the out the open window, Sam watches the monster's eyes lock onto something outside.

'I've just got a few errands to run, Sammy boy. I'll be back to continue our game.'

And with that he jumps out of the window landing half-crouched and poised to strike.

In the absence of any threats, the Dullahan straightens and walks out into the car park. Leaving the young Hunter to battle his fading consciousness in the motel room.

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Black smoke invisible to the naked eye, clashes with the fine rain. He hates such weather. It greatly dulls his perception of his environment. Without eyes the smoke acts as a feedback system, adapted like a sonar to help coordinate his movements. The image of a full bodied person, head included, is an illusion cast by the inky blackness to fool his prey.

But there's vulnerable in the rain, he's blind almost. The smoke isn't able to travel very far. So he cannot risk moving on just yet. But the other Winchesters weren't due back for at least another two days he wagers. He had one of his brethren keeping tags on the Hunters in the next town over.

John Winchester was never going to be a clean cut assassination. No, no. . . The man _deserves_ better.

He knew that the moment he was offered the job.

John Winchester would die- make no mistake. It is just easier to weaken him first. Rip away the things he cared for most. Sam had almost convinced him that John wouldn't care about the fate of his youngest. Putting on such a brave, believable facade. Maybe he would of fallen for it, if he hadn't been trailing their family over the past month. It was obvious the human was trying to protect his youngest from something, but from what? The supernatural? Himself? Maybe. . . Not that it mattered. Killing Sam would be too easy, he hadn't waited weeks to finish it so quickly. The idea is to make the Winchesters suffer.

After all, how many of friends had that man slaughtered? The Dullahan lowers his gaze. Too many. Too many to count.

The rain intensifies, washing down in one inescapable sheet. His vision regresses further. But not enough that he couldn't sense the figure shying away from the clouded sunlight. He approaches with grace, but stills holds a fair distance.

'You got what I asked for?'

The Dullahan smiles as a vile is pressed into his gloved hand. The contents encased in the glass swirl with every movement to cover the inside red, over and over again.

'You're such a doll, Sebastian. Who knew you blood suckers could be so sharing?' He winks playfully.

The vampire sighs, turning to survey the almost deserted tarmac, all but three cars remain.

"Just finish your sick game quickly, Tom. I want John Winchester gone, out of the picture, out of business _permanently."_ He stresses. "Just like everyone else. He's been left unchecked for too long, it's time someone to put him in his place."

'And that place is six feet underground, right?'

Sebastian turns back to the assassin.

"We're dropping out." He adds flatly. "At first it was convenient, we happened to be nearby and you needed to distract John Winchester. But he's gotten too close to my family, too quickly. We took precautions when leading him on, set up a fake den, dumped our leftovers outside our hunting grounds." He sighs. "But he'll notice soon enough, if he hasn't already. So we're leaving town, crossing a few boarders and staying in the wind. It's over."

Tom appears to nod. 'You've done plenty, my friend. I was only waiting on your blood and the weather. I should be gone by tomorrow morning.'

"Cutting it a bit close?" The vampire questions. "Just watch your back. Winchesters are dangerous humans, and lethal Hunters. I don't want to see another friend put down like some rabid dog. I don't give fuck how much these 'clients' of yours are paying... It's not worth your life, Tom. Just," he pleas, resting a firm grip in the other's shoulders. "Just. . . Just be careful, mate."

'Have a little more faith in me, please?' The Dullahan fakes offence in his voice. 'This isn't my first rodeo. He's just one Hunter, and you said it yourself - he's human. Just like all the rest I've ended. How bad can really he be? Rumours get exaggerated. Things have gone according to plan.'

The vampire bites back a retort, shifting his gaze to the mournful sky. "Well then," he grins uncertainly, "good luck and all the best. I hope for your sake it keeps going that way."

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 **Please review and let me know what you think :)**

 _P.S. I'd be lying if I said I didn't picture the Dullahan as Tom Hiddleston xD_


	5. Chapter 4 - WILFULNESS OF A WINCHESTER

**CHAPTER FOUR - WILFULNESS OF A WINCHESTER**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. What's the worst that could happen? It's quiet, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual.

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many feels

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')

 **NOTES:** Sam - 15, Dean – 19

 **SHOUT OUT:**

 _Still Awesome2009_

 _Passshammer_

 _Ashollow ~ I promise this won't be a dead Sam story, I'm not sure my heart could take that :'(_

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT!**

 _I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to everyone who followed or/and favourited._

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Feeble light flickers from the pleating candles while shadows dance across the faded motel walls. Sam sifts back into awareness with the dark as his only company. He allows the sleep to slowly leach out of his mind before attempting any coherent thoughts. Flinching as the light dims and sparks anew. Sam waits for the Dullahan to make himself known. But only greeted with silence, he risks opening his eyes.

The first notable difference is how considerable lower the candles have become. As in, _hours_ must have passed.

The second is the peculiar feeling of having regained his body from the numbness. Not entirely, but just enough. Half-drowsy, he watches one of the skull candles flicker and die. The flames withers as it fights the breeze from the window before disappearing. This time Sam's certain he's alone.

Weakly he attempts to push himself to sit up, but he doesn't have enough strength to stay that way. Falling clumsily to the side, he carries on till he hits the floor. There's a _THUD_ and then a ruffle as the bed sheets follow him down. Sam groans, blindly twisting to escape. His left side protests any and all immediate movement. So instead, he rests for a moment. Collecting his scattered thoughts and trying to recover.

Absently Sam notices that the hybrid-axe weapon is missing. He makes a little mental note but shake his head to dispel the thought. He doesn't have any time to waste. The Dullahan could return at any moment. Sam stubbornly ignores the outraged protests of his _every single muscle_. But maybe, just maybe, the dizziness is worse causing a crashing heaviness in his head and unfocused vision. There's heat on his cheeks and each breath his short and sharp in his chest.

Slowly Sam crawls forward. Dragging himself along using the carpet, the walls, the skirting-board, Sam struggles futilely. Anything within his grasp becomes anchor to pull himself onward. Sam feels the drywall crumble under his fingertips, and an idea sparks in his fever-riddled mind. He stops and lets out a heavy breath. Then raising his hand to the peeling wall.

 ** _D_**

 ** _U_**

Painstakingly he carves each letter with his nails.

 ** _L_**

The paint and dirt fall to the floor like sand.

 ** _L_**

 ** _A_**

 ** _H_**

The letters are uneven. Some float midway above the others, while several are crooked and barely legible. He's trying his best.

 ** _A_**

 ** _N_**

Sam rolls onto his back and laughs. Because that was exhausting. The heat on Sam's cheeks rises in waves, crashing through his pounding head. The little Winchester looks across to the other wall-length mirror. The more the black smoke disperses, the easier it becomes to breath and the clearer his head feels.

Unfortunately, his body is yet to catch up. His limbs ache and continue to protest.

A gust of wind rattles into the room and for a terrifying moment, Sam believes the monster has returned. But instead, the sound of a car's engine roars outside. Tires screech skidding to a stop, and car doors slam shut. Sam hums because there's something very familiar in those sounds. Almost comforting. Twisting his body onto his front, Sam continues crawling, dragging, battling his way across the motel floor to the hallway.

Footsteps sound outside the shabby motel door. Two sets, Sam's trained senses tell him. Two people. He watches as their shadows pass in the gap between door and worn-down carpet. If just for a fleeting second, they block out the only light source entering the room. Sam weakly stretches his right arm out, fingers reaching for the door. A silent call for help on his lips but his efforts are futile. His voice barely an audible whisper, drowned out by the hum of their conversation. They continue past along the corridor, slowly growing ever distant. Sam heart dulls, his hope faltering even more. He was so close. And then the sounds abruptly stops. The clinking of metal keys is accompanied the whine of rusty hinges.

Sam whimpers. Tears rising the corners of his eyes. He could hear Dean's voice through the paper-thin motel walls. His big brother is barely a couple of metres away, but it feels like miles.

If only he wasn't so weakened by the venom. If only he was strong like hunters are supposed to be. If only he could call out to his big brother. Dean would save him.

Sam hears a door swing shut and Dean's presence becomes just that little bit more out of reach. He tries his voice again. His breaths crackle but no sound comes out. The attempt aggravates his damaged vocal chords, evident by the handprint bruising on his neck. A fiery onslaught consumes his airways. He drew his arms back, hands clutching his throat in hope to gain some remnants of relief.

The window creeks as it opens further. Sam watches in utter horror as back smoke begins to creep across the mirror's reflection. He struggles forward, wiggling, crawling, dragging himself along with a new-found strength born of pure, untamed fear. He reaches out again and his fingertips brush the chipped paint on the wooden motel door. Sam eyes widen, features straining with all the effort it takes stretching up to reach the lock and handle. He's almost made there, _if he could just-_

-A black-cladded boot collides heavily with his back. Momentarily stunning Sam with the spark of pain that radiates through his ribcage. The young Hunter wheezes as the breath is unexpectedly forced from his chest. He's too startled to react.

'And _where_ do you think you're going?' A familiar voice teases.

The other boot drops down heavily on Sam's right arm and something goes _SNAP_. At first there's no pain, delayed up the shook before it shoots unforgivingly up his arm into his spine. The throbbing ache brings fresh tears to Sam's eyes. Broken bones are the worst. He would know, he's had his fair share. But the only sound from Sam is more air rushing out his lungs.

There's a _BANG_ of something heavy being tossed at the floor and John's raised voice startles the Dullahan. His head snaps to look at the wall, wild eyes and mouth hanging slightly open. Only now realising the danger of what stood on the other side of the plasterboard.

'Well shit, they're back early.' He sighs, unflexing his fists. 'Change of plans. Looks like we'll be taking a little drive out of town, Sammy.'

The Dullahan leans down and whispers so sickly sweet, Sam wants to gag.

'Just you and me. How does that sound?' He purrs and steps of the pliant body under his boots.

Sam inhales sharply, ribs aching with the sudden movement. The monster walks back to the bedroom, drops the bloodied chain axe on the bed and tilts backwards slightly to keep an eye on the young Winchester as he begins packing a few books, bones, the spine, and weapons into a dark rucksack. Sam lazily twists onto his side, arms awkwardly sprawling out in front of him.

He whimpers as the Dullahan packs his revolver along with everything else, losing hope as it flickers out like the candles. Then, he turns on Sam.

The young boy's lips tremble as he watches the mirror's reflection. Black smoke billows in the air and draws into Sam's lungs with each small breath.

'Did you think you were gonna make it?' The monster smiles. 'That's cute.' He walks over to Sam, leisurely. 'Humans are... so much _fun_.'

Sam vision dims, body shaking as the cold encases his bones. Then heat. Unbearable, insufferable molten ash that settles deep in his core and radiates out across his being.

'How about we go to the forest, _hmmmm?_ Wonder how long it will take your family to find what's left of you there after I'm done?'

The monster slings the backpack over one shoulder and with supernatural ease lifts the unresisting fifteen-year-old. He smirks satisfied as Sam's fevered red cheeks burn and dazed eyes are too slow to track any cognitive movements.

'Guess no one's home anymore? I'm gonna kinda miss our chats.'

Leaning Sam against his chest, the Dullahan uses his free hand to open the door. The corridor's deserted, but he expects nothing less. He can still hear the two Hunters arguing through the crumbling walls. The little human in his arms whimpers again and shifts at the sound. But soon the human settles again in his tight hold.

The young Winchester's face was peaceful. A facade to conceal the storm just beneath while under his venom's influence. The smoke's effects are inescapable the moment it's breathed in, the toxins will render his prey comatose.

Hurriedly, the Dullahan steps out, not bothering to shut the door in case of notifying the Hunters, and walks down the corridor till he reaches the poor excuse for a reception. Shabby, with a barely standing desk, splintering on three legs and the fourth is duct-taped. The receptionist is different than the one he'd first met upon arriving. He smiles at the convince. She wouldn't know he'd booked in alone.

"Oh my god!" She gasps. "Is he okay?"

Dropping her nail file, she rushes forward past the desk. Eyes worried, her hand shakes as she lifts it part way over her mouth. The Dullahan wonders why humans have a tendency to do that.

'Yeah, my brother's just got a high fever, but I'm taking him down to A&E before it becomes anything too series.'

"The next town over?" She questions. "Would you like me call ahead for you?"

Turning back to the desk, she began to open the reservation book.

'No, no, that's fine.' The lie rolls of his tongue. 'Like I send nothing serious, I just can't help but worry.'

"Poor dear. I hope he'll be alright." She sighs, observing the heat on Sam's cheeks.

'Don't worry.' He cooes. 'I'm gonna take care of him.'

She smiles sweetly before moving to open the door for him.

'Thanks, see you later.' He winks and she blushs. Humans were also easy to embarrass. 'Now,' he thinks, 'time to break John Winchester from the inside out.'

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 _Mahahahaha, I'm devil spawn~ Dean was so close and Sam couldn't reach him in time._

 **Review and let me know what you think! :)**


	6. Chapter 5 - MONSTER

**CHAPTER FIVE - MONSTER**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. What's the worst that could happen? It's quiet, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual.

 **WARNINGS:** Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many feels

 **DISCLAIMER:** I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')

 **NOTES:** _Sam - 15, Dean – 19_

 **...**

 **SHOUT OUT:**

Kas3y

Still Awesome2009

rozzy07

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUUPORT!**

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Sam hazily remembers trees blurring past the car window. Dull aching litters his body, flaring up a new agony with every pot-hole crossed and every bump in the tarmac. A small hiss escapes his chapped lips. Sam watches absently as evergreen leaves entwine tighter and tighter, casting out the heavens from sight.

Somewhere along the way the road morphs into a dirt track - _when exactly_ \- Sam struggles to pinpoint. The pain bleeds deeply as he is thrown about like a rag-doll in his seat, arm throbbing with each and every movement, drawing quiet whimpers from Sam's mouth. He figures that this road does not get see much use. It's dark and unlit, the only source of illumination beams forwards from the car's headlights. Branches reach out to scrape along the windows, carving lines in the black paintwork to prove his cloudy mind's assumptions.

Black smoke twists in the side-mirror's reflection and Sam's breath hitches. He'd forgotten, _how could he forget?_ It crawls further and further in the air, suffocating him, cutting his lungs with cold in each small inhale.

Sam feels the hum of an engine beneath him. He closes his eye to slits. A heaviness lingers over his mind, it tastes sweet and offers an escape of the cold encasing his bones. _But_. . . but there's something off about the sound of the engine, it's less mechanical than the Impala, almost- almost alive. Like a wild beast, no wait, Sam thinks abruptly, like a horse begging to let loose. _It's seems so re-_

The seatbelt catches again, pulling Sam back down with a _THUD_ and forcing his head to collide with the side window. He briefly catches the Dullahan's eyes in the glass, attention snapping towards the young Hunter. Sam plays unconscious. Swallowing his breaths and mellowing out the fear on his features. The monster seems satisfied as he turns back to the road. Sam risks opening his eyes a bit wider. It's darker still outside, the stars have all but vanished and he can barely make out the trees as they pass by. Distantly, vaguely Sam knows he _needs_ to escape.

Without thinking he reacts. Every instinct John has ever drilled into him is kicked into overdrive. Sam twists and lashes out, hitting the Dullahan square in the chest and then catching his left leg on the steering wheel. The car swerves and Sam watches the monster desperately try to regain control. But it's too late. With every nerve Sam feels the sharp jolt as they crash head first into an old tree.

Heat travels across Sam's brain as his head collides with the dash board. The feeling sprints along his neurones in blistering torture. He slowly begins to notice the sticky-wetness travelling along the font on his forehead.

Something shifts and tilts sideways, Sam dazedly looks around _because. . . because he's not quite sure where he is. Have Dean and Dad stopped at a motel?_

The car door swings open and a hand roughly grabs the back of his hoodie. With one fluid movement, someone yanks Sam from the car seat and on the floor. Weakly, he kicks his legs trying and failing to stand, but the hand remains firm, dragging him backwards across a dirt road. Sam squints at the black dots appearing before his eyes, and attempts to shake away the feeling of dizziness they bring.

'You're trying my patience, Sammy.' A voice echoes across his skull, far away as if the person is speaking him down a tunnel.

The next moment, the hand hauls up his body like he's made of- of. . . Sam struggles think of anything to describe how weightless it makes him feel. It's fleeting though as plastic straps are tightened around his wrists and his exhausted body to dropped to the woodland floor.

On his back and face pressed against the cool ground, the scent of dirt tingles Sam's nose. Twigs buckle and crunch under his shifting weight while footsteps sound nearby in their approach.

'I was going to wait until we had put some more distance between us and your family.' Hisses the irritated voice. 'But this will do.'

Sam frowns because. . . _because where's Dean? Dean should be here._

Shaking, Sam nurses his aching right arm and attempts to crawl away in search of his brother. At the sight of black boots by his head, Sam recoils and flinches away.

"Dean. . ?" He calls weakly.

The voice just laughs.

A hand roughly grabs the back of his hoodie neck again, hauling Sam up. Mutedly, he watches the car and road slowly grow further and further distant as the man drags him away.

They finally stop and Sam inhales sharply as he's strung up. His feet just scrap on the ground, scuffing the leaves underfoot. With his hands restrained above, Sam allows his head to rest on one of his arms. Tiredly he watches the man reach into his inside pocket. He struggles to track his movements as something cold is forced past lips. The man holds a hand over his mouth and waits.

The coppery-saltiness lingers on his tongue, stinging his throat. _And then-_

 _It-_

 _Just-_

 ** _-burns._**

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Dean slams the Impala door shut with enough force to shake its sleek, black frame.

"Dad, I just think it's time you started giving Sam the choice." He grumbles tiredly, running his fingers through his dirt-laden hair.

There's a huff, followed by sound of the Impala boot thumping down.

John appears from behind, carrying a duffle bag of unused weapons. It's certainly not the best time to be having this conversation, and Dean knows it. But if not now, when? It's never the right moment, right day, right week, something else always gets in the way.

"Dean," John sighs, "look. You know what that kid is like, one minute he wants to hunt, the next I get this rubbish about grades and finishing semesters. He can't decide, so I will." He struggles with the lock for a second before continuing. "It's been a long day, we'll discuss it later."

Dean's brow furrows. He's heard that line before. One too many times before in fact.

"Dad, a couple of vamps got the better of us, so what? That could happen to any Hunter anywhere and it doesn't warrant a reason to discuss this later. Here and now, I won't do this in front of Sam." Dean presses stubbornly.

"Dean, don't-"

"Enough excuses, distractions, and maybe laters. I don't care anymore. If you don't let Sam have this. I'll take him with me. You can't keep ignoring him like this, you can't keep walking away because it suits you, Dad." Dean feels his shoulders slump a little as the words leave his dry lips. "You're making the kid miserable."

John's eyes harden with the accusation. "Don't you dare-"

"-What are you so afraid of? The moment I could hold a gun, I was out there beside you. Sam's just as smart, just as skilled. He can protect himself. Yeah, okay, so he's stubborn but he's not an idiot, Dad."

"Dean, fine! You what Sam in the line of fire so badly, next hunt can be just the two of you! Let's see how much you like putting up with all his whining."

"For real?" Dean stares back disbelievingly.

John give a nod as he turns around and heads for the motel.

Dean follows two steps behind, passing through the motel reception and ghosting the corridors, listening as his Dad laid out the conditions. Reaching their room, Dean absently notices that the door next to them has been left slightly ajar. But in his exhaustion, Dean thinks very little of it, instead turning back to their own room and banging his fist to alert Sammy they are back. His fist shakes the sorry piece of wood on its fragile hinges.

"Sammy?" Dean calls, voice scratchy.

A moment, a beat. No reply. And already a nervousness grips the pit of his stomach.

"Sammy, open the door! We're not in the mood for your games. Come on, man!" Dean feels his throat tighten with each word.

Still no reply.

"SAM?"

He looks to John for support, but the eldest Winchester did nought to rid his fear.

"SAM? _ANSWER ME, SAM!_ "

Dean waits no longer before throwing all his body weight at the door. The lock SNAPS cleanly and he falls down into their deserted motel room. Scrambling to his feet, Dean rushes forward, closely followed by John.

"SAM? SAM? Shit, _shit_ ," Dean curses under his breath. "SAMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?"

John pales, his right hand already tightly clutching his semi-automatic revolver.

"Check the bathroom." He orders.

"Sammy? Sammy?!" Dean run his fingers through his hair, finding an empty room. " _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Dad, where is he?"

The older hunter turns and sprints out of the motel room. Dean trails after him without question, without reason. They end up back in the reception, face to face with a woman, different to the one who first checked them in.

John wastes no time. "Excuse me, Miss, did a young lad tall, lanky, brown hair, leave since you've been on your shift?"

She eyes the two men suspiciously for a few moments before her line of sight rests on Dean and a small, flirty graces her lips.

"Do you mean the little brother of that cutie? Cause they only just left, you missed them by seconds. The kid looked in a real bad way, his brother said he was gonna drive to the hospital the next town over."

John nods and turns to Dean. "Grab the gear, I'll meet you in the car."

The receptionist looks alarmed. "Sirs, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." John bit out curtly. "Dean. Out. _Now_."

The Hunter turns on his heels and leaves without another word. He storms across the parking lot to the Impala and yanks the door open. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, John starts the car with the other. He sits flexing his fists. Within seconds, Dean jumps into shotgun chucking their duffle bag of weapons into the back seat.

The black car screeches in reserve, sliding on its tires and races down the unlit road.

 **.**

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 **.**

'You're a proper hunter now, Sammy.' He teases. 'You're a monster.'

A feral growl resonates from the little Winchester's throat. His fangs bare threateningly, but the Dullahan just laughs. Taking hold of fledgling's chin, he smiles at the intensifying snarl coming from Sam's lips.

'Awww, no hard feelings, little one. This won't kill you, but I am gonna have to slow you down. Can't have a baby vamp on my tail.'

Sam growls again. His vision honing with precision that only a predicator could attain. He isn't quite sure what's going on. But he isn't happy that this creature has tied him up. He doesn't like it at all.

The man moves behind and Sam head twists just about keeping him in view. His pupils narrow at the chained weapon in the Dulluhan's hand.

'Sammy,' he smiles, 'let me be the first to welcome to immorality.'

Cold metal cuts into his flesh. He tenses and cries out. The man swings the axe head again and again and again. His back weeps with red tears. His hoodie is quickly shredded, material sticking into his wounds.

Sam pulls desperately at the plastic straps around his wrists. It buckles and Sam's lips twitch into a smile. He tugs once, twice more as the binds snap causing him to come crashing down to the ground. There's a moment, a beat as the world falls silent. Then Sam hears twigs crackle underfoot as the man moves forward to grab him.

Twisting into a crouch, Sam growls and the man to falters. His body protests every movement as he strikes forward, clawing the man's arm held in defence. Each muscle stings, and his skin itches.

A mockingly laugh lingers in the night air, and Sam looks up at his oppressor, poised to strike.

'Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.' He drawls. 'Can you feel it yet? The hunger. They say it's unbearable for new-borns. How long before you attack someone, Sammy?'

The little Winchester clenches his fists and snarls. His head pounds, his right arm aches and his back screams. He runs. And he doesn't look back. Rain begins to fall, slowly at first, fine as it might not be there. A misplaced step and Sam tumbles to the ground. His fingers curl into fists but he doesn't stop.

Sam drags himself along.

Suddenly there's trees beside him and Sam crawls blindly without direction. His stomach and throat burn. He's thirsty, so thirsty. But all the water falling from the sky is wasted. He doesn't want that, he doesn't need that.

There's someone he wants to find. A face he cannot quite remember.

He keeps crawling, head pounding and his throat sore.

 _'_ _~If you go down to the woods today you better in disguise~'_

A sing-song voice echoes through the trees.

 _'_ _~If you go down to the woods today beware of what you find~'_

Sam feels his fangs extend down and catch on his lower lip. The man is nearby and so. . . is the smell of _blood_.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"Dad, who do you think would take Sam?"

"I don't- I'm not sure, Dean. I have an idea- I don't want to believe. . ."

Confusion ways down Dean's youthful features before, finally, realisation sparks a new horror in his chest. "You- you don't mean a vamp?"

The older Hunter pauses for a second, not taking his eyes of the road.

"It's likely so whoever- whatever took Sam isn't planning on taking him to a hospital. It doesn't intend to keep him alive for long-"

 _"-Fuck! DAD STOP!"_ Dean screams.

The Impala skids, narrowly avoiding a crash.

"Dammit, Dean what-" John froze noticing the black BMW 320, wrecked and abandoned after having swerved off the road and straight into a tree.

The Impala's engine falls silent and Dean is the first to jump out. "Dad I recognise that car, it was at the motel before we left for the vamp hunt."

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 _ **Please review and let me know what you think :)**_


	7. Chapter 6 - BEHIND HIS HAZEL EYES

**CHAPTER SIX – BEHIND HIS HAZEL EYES**

 **TITLE:** COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS

 **RATING:** 13+

 **FULL SUMMARY:** _John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. What's the worst that could happen? It's quiet, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual. Creature!Sam. Possibly completely canon._

 **WARNINGS:** _Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many feels_

 **DISCLAIMER:** _I wish I owned the rights to Supernatural :')_

 **NOTES:** _Sam- 15, Dean – 19. The Dullahan's car is a 1999 BMW 7 Series E38, basically the car from the first Transporter film._

 **SHOUT OUT TO:**

thewindinthemeadow

Kas3y

PotterheadSamWinchester

m-j98

KToon

SallyBrandon

MarbleWolf

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT!**

 **…**

It's not difficult when you know what to look for, and John has been on too many Hunts to miss the signs. He's seen how this goes for too many strangers, watched as they realised their loved ones won't be coming back, to be naive enough in the belief that Sam _will_ be okay. As if that stops him anyway.

Each step brings him closer to the wrecked _BMW_ , the bonnet is crumpled and the windscreen had completely shattered on impact. There's blood on the passenger's side of the dash board. Not a lot, but a sufficient amount for worry to weigh down John's face.

Looking back to Dean, his oldest son's pale features and gaunt expression cause John's stomach to sink further. If he walks into this as unprepared as they are, he may end up losing both his children tonight. John turns on the spot, washing the thought quickly from his mind, eyes searching the darken woods for any movement. The night breeze ruffles the trees, branches attacking one another.

Even against the noise, the air holds a strange stillness.

He can't lose Sammy, not like this, not now. John eyes fall to the floor in despair. The moonlight fights to be seen through the greying clouds, flaring up the dirt-road with white light. John freezes. Tracks bridge a path from the BMW into the woods. The signs of a struggle are imprinted on the earth, shoes and fingernails have scuffed up the dirt. John swallows, adam's apple bobbing, as turns to face Dean.

"It leads into the forest." He states, holding his voice steady and flexing his fists. "Open the trunk."

John watches as Dean rushes back to the Impala and follows quickly behind. Within seconds he has a service pistol in one hand and a machete in the other to mirror his son.

Strapping knifes and blades tightly to their arms and legs, Dean nods at him firmly, eyes bright with faith. John has to look away, just for a moment, because how will Dean ever look at him like this again if he fails to bring Sam back alive?

Letting his knuckles bleed white as he grips the handle, John cocks the gun and holds it dead still.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Good, don't let your guard down, not for a second, Dean. It's more than likely there's more than one."

Dean nods silently.

"Let's go."

John scarcely registers as the heavens begin to open, and fine rain tumbles down to the earth.

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 **.**

 **.**

 _'Tag, you're it.' A male voice teases._

 _Sam's line of vision is limited to the heavy black army style boots striding forward, kicking up leaves in their wake. The ground breaths, free to take in rain. He watches absently as the figure stands a few feet in front of his head._

 _'I've got to hand it to ya kid.' He smirks and crouches down. Arms relaxingly resting on his bent legs. 'No one's given me such a run for my money in a very long time.'_

 _The young Hunter flinches as fingers brush away his drenched hair, that had been sticking to his forehead and covering his hazel eyes. The touch is gentle, but it aggravates the gash above his right eyebrow._

 _'Looks pretty nasty.' He fakes sympathy, marvelling at his own handiwork. The throbbing hollows out Sam's head with pain, chipping away further at his lucidity. 'Definitely concussion.' He concludes. 'Humans are fragile like that. But then, you aren't one of them anymore.'_

 _Poised like a cat, the monster stands up with a grace no earthly creature could manage. His muscles flex ready to deal the final blow._

 _'Oh well,' he sighs, circling his prey. 'It's a shame, little Winchester. I would play more, you've been most entertaining, but all good things must come to an end.'_

 _Ignoring his hand-held weapon in favour of something more precise, the man twists his wrist. A dark blade flicks out. Once concealed under his sleeve, he now points the smooth metal at Sam's chest._

 _'So I can't be hanging around when daddy dearest shows up.' He smiles fondly, as if parting with a cherished friend. 'Goodbye, Sammy. It's unfortunate you were on their side.'_

 _Blood mixtures with rain as a blade sinks deeply into flesh._

 **.**

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Dean stands, heavy breaths escaping his shaking body and hands having trouble holding the machete straight, before he twists it sharply, deeper into the man's back. The monster freezes. Slowly he looks down at the blade sticking through his chest and watches in confusion as the silver-infused metal is pulled out. Dean smirks victoriously as in one swift swing, he severs the man's head clean from his shoulders.

The axe-weapon slips through his rapidly greying fingers and his now headless body slumps to its knees before plunging sideways to the ground. Dean steps back in order to avoid being flattened. Red blood and black ashen smoke pours from the wound as the man- _monster_ , Dean releases, remains unmoving. The young Hunter takes a steadying breath then locks his eyes on Sammy's terrified face. He takes a step forward and instantly his baby brother desperately tries to crawl away.

"Sammy, Sammy _shhhhhhh_. It's okay now, it's okay. It's me, it's Dean." He bites down on his lip as Sam flinches back from his out-stretched hand.

"DEAN STOP!" John's voice roars from behind.

Dean jumps out of his skin, turning just in time to see a small, red-tinted vile drop from John's right hand to the earth below.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" He yells, clicking his shotgun up and holds it directly at Sam's head.

"What the hell, Dad?" Stepping in John's line of aim, Dean draws his own revolver of their farther.

"Dean, get away! That's not Sammy anymore!"

"What? No. Dad, seriously, _seriously_ what the hell? I-"

"-DEAN LOOK OUT!" John eyes widen in fear.

The shotgun echoes through the trees, and Dean cries out in pain and surprise as teeth that, at one moment, had sunk deeply into his shoulder were then forcefully ripped away. Sam is thrown up into the air before he falls to the ground with a **_THUD_**. He growls ferally at Dean stumbles numbly back to his John's side. The bite on his shoulder starts to bleed freely now his attacker had been shot off. Slow and sluggish, alerting Dean that it had luckily failed to nick an artery.

John fires _once, twice, three_ times dead centre of his youngest son's chest before Sam stops moving. Each shot resonates high into the night sky, causing Dean to flinch back on instinct.

-And then. . . nothing but the sound of the wind lingers.

"Dean, get the restraints."

"Dad. . . _Dad?_ " Dean's voice barely makes a whisper. "How- _What's going on?_ "

"Just get the restraints, Dean."

The younger Hunter steals one last glance between his father and baby brother, before stumbling backwards and turning away. Tears collecting in the corner of his green eyes. A numbness creeps into his stomach, spreading to his arms and legs. His muscles feel weak, feeble. Using the trees and branches in his path, Dean attempts to support his weight and keep himself steady. He barely makes it back to the Impala without falling.

 _Because_. . . _Sam had bit him like some wild animal. No, not an animal like. . . like a vamp._

And maybe it starts to make sense.

 _The vile John had found. . . Had it contained vamp blood? Had they used it. . . to turn. . . to turn his baby brother? Or perhaps, something worse?_

The Impala waits by the side of the road, where they left her, and Dean clicks open the boot. Numbly, he rummages around for a pair of silver-gilded handcuffs. The only thing capable of restraining the vast majority of supernatural creatures. Gripping the cuffs between his fingers, Dean locks the Impala and makes his way back to the clearing.

John is waiting for him, a heavy boot pressing down on Sam's back and shotgun aimed at his youngest head.

"Dean, I know this is difficult." John pauses, looking directly into his eldest's eyes. "But I _need_ you to focus. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay, Dad, okay." He tries and fails to hid the shudder of his voice.

"Dean, Sammy's a- he's a vamp. But I'm going to make this right, I'm going to. . ." He trails off, features crumbling from their calm facade. "Whatever that _bastard_ had been planning it involved _this_. If I hadn't- hadn't walked out." A dangerous snarl laces his tone.

"No, that's not- he can't be..." Dean shakes his head, desperate not to hear those words out loud.

"I _will_ try _everything_ to undo this, Dean. I promise. But. . . But if it comes down to it-"

"-NO! HOW COULD YOU EVEN?! WE CAN'T! IT'S STILL- _HE'S_ STILL MY BROTHER! IT'S STILL SAMMY! _Dad_." Dean begs. "Dad, look at me. Promise me, _promise me_ that you'll _never_ do that."

"If we don't. . . another hunter will." John answers evenly, detachment heavy in his eyes. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Dean shakes as he hands the cuffs over to John, watching as the older Hunter clicks them into place behind Sam's back.

"This will hold him for now, but we'll have to find something more permanent."

Once again, Dean offers a nod instead of verbal confirmation.

Hauling Sam's limp body over his shoulder, John winces at the feeling of wet blood. It seeps through the material of his jacket, sticky to the touch. He shakes himself from the horror that breeds in his chest and passes Dean's shell-shocked form. Grunting out a 'quickly', John doesn't wait for his eldest to jolt back into action, he just keeps walking. They return to the Impala in silence. The wind howls up at the sky and the rain softens until it almost completely disappears. John tenderly lays Sam out on the back seats despite his shaky hands. Not a breath leaves his lungs as he gently shuts the Impala door and makes his way to the front seat. Dean's already sitting in shotgun, hands in his lap and head bowed.

Without a word, John starts the engine and pulls away. There's nowhere for them to go other than the Motel. John lets himself push down on the accelerator and glances briefly up at the review mirror to watch the _BMW_ disappear into the distance.

"Dean," John calls. No answer. "Dean." He says more firmly, glancing to his oldest.

But Dean's attention lies elsewhere, his body twisted in his seat to watch Sam in the back.

" _Dean_."

The boy jumps out of his skin, features pale and manages to answer with a quiet 'yes, Sir.'

John sighs heavily. "Grab the phone, it's in the side door. Call Bobby. Tell him what's- . . . Let him know."

His only response is the electronic sound of pressed button and dial tone that follows.

The road shifts from dirt to Tarmac before Bobby's gruff voice answers.

 _'You should not have this number.'_

"Bobby, it's Dean."

 _'Dean? What you calling for, boy? I told John not to-'_

"-Please, don't hang up! It's not a hunt, it's not a hunt."

He waits. Relief flooding though his system when the older Hunter doesn't end the call.

 _'You have ten seconds.'_

"A vamp. . . Bobby, they- they turned Sam." Dean bites his lower lip to stop his breaths growing ever more unsteady. "I don't know what to do."

 _'Where is he now?'_

"We've got him. Here. With us."

 _'And how was he acting?'_

"Like one of them, Bobby. He- Sam attacked me."

 _'Did he drink your blood?'_

"No, maybe, I don't think so. Dad shot him off me before. . ."

 _'He shot him off.'_ The older Hunter echoes down the phone. _'Jesus.'_

"Bobby, what's with the hundred questions?"

 _'_ _Just keep Sam from drinking blood, Dean. No matter what he says and does, no matter how much he pleads, you got that?'_

"Yeah, Bobby. What's-"

 _'_ _-There might still be- We'll see.'_ He sighs heavily. _'Where are you?'_

"Tennessee, some place called Leiper's Fork."

 _'_ _Right okay, give me some time to pack, that's a thirteen-hour drive. I'll be able to. . . on the way. . .'_

"Bobby? Bobby?"

Static sounds down the line as the signal cuts out.

"Damnmit." Dean curses, chucking the phone at the dashboard.

"What?"

"Signal's gone but Bobby said he's on his way down. Sounded like he might know something. What do we do, Dad?"

John glances at Dean before returning his attention to the road, tapping his fingers on "We wait at the Motel till Bobby gets here." John confirms strongly. "There's library in the town centre, I'll go see what I can find on vampires. And, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna need you to watch out for Sammy."

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Leaves quiver and shake as the wind rushes past. Greying clouds shatter in the sky to free the moon, allowing tainted light to spill over the rain-laden woods. There's movement, and the sound of snapping twigs that follows.

The headless body shifts.

Pushing itself to sit up, the figure waits with patience as the black smoke in the air rises and settles back into place. He sits for a moment and sighs.

The Hunters are gone, yet somehow, he had managed to walk out of this alive. They obviously did not realise what they had been dealing with, otherwise he would not have been long to this world. Going for his neck to severer how head made sense now. They had been dealing with vampires that up and disappeared, it's logical to assume said vampires would target one of their own.

With shaky arms, he reaches for his weapon, curling his fingers around the metal until his knuckles bleed white and smiles.

Samuel Winchester is no longer human.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he hits ring and after three dial tones hangs up. It's over, his clients know the job is done, all that's left to do is skip town, state, probably even the country. Who knows? He has family in Ireland to visit.

Standing up and brushing himself down, the Dullahan makes his way out of the forest. Reaching the road, he sighs at the scene of his wrecked car. He walks over, rips the silver bonnet mascot off and pockets it.

Looks like he will be hitchhiking his way out of Leiper's Folk.

 **…**

 **Please review and let me know what you think!**


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